Bearers Of The Black Staff Part 14

Pan and Prue exchanged a surprised look. "How do you know our language when we don't know yours?" Pan asked quickly. "We have Lizards where we live, but they don't speak like you."

"Keep your voices down!" the other snapped, glancing back over his shoulder. He paused. "We're not Lizards. We don't call ourselves that anymore, or allow others to call us that. We call ourselves Trolls, as in Faerie time. Call us that. Remember. Trolls!" He sounded angry.

"Trolls," Pan repeated quickly. "Sorry. But how did you learn to speak like we do? How did you learn? Are there Men living out here?"

"Men, others. But I speak your tongue because my family kept the old language. Others mostly didn't; they only speak Troll. But there were always two languages in our history, old and new. I can talk to you, but Grosha and the others, no." He paused. "Who are you? What are your names?"

They gave them, speaking them in turn. "Arik Sarn," said the other, the name all rolling, guttural sounds run together.

"Arik Sarn," Pan repeated carefully.

"Where do you come from?" the Troll pressed. "No! No pointing! Hands down! Just answer."

Pan hesitated. "From inside the mountains behind us."

"Your people? A community?"

Pan nodded.

"Are there others?"

"Yes."

"Trolls, you said. Elves, too? Other Races?"

Pan nodded again, exchanging a fresh glance with Prue. "Why do you want to know?" the girl asked impulsively.

Arik Sarn ignored the question. "How long are you in the valley?" he asked instead.

"A long time," Pan answered. "Hundreds of years. We were brought there after the Great Wars and before the last destruction."

The Troll caught his breath sharply. "Brought there? You were led by someone?"

"Yes."

The Troll leaned very close, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "A boy? He was called Hawk? It was Hawk who led you?"

Panterra stared in disbelief. "How do you know about the Hawk?"

Sarn shook his head. "Later. Other things first. I am allowed to speak to you because I know your language, but Grosha will not allow it for long. Grosha Siq is my cousin. He is the son of the tribe Maturen, Taureq Siq. The tribe are Drouj, but they are not my tribe. A game of chance captured you. Grosha plays this game when he hunts. Now you belong to him. Mostly, after his Skaith Hounds have trapped prey, he gives the prey to his hounds to let them do with it whatever they want. But Men are scarce in this part, not found much. I persuaded him you must go to his father to be questioned. His father has first claim on you."

"Skaith Hounds," Prue repeated softly, s.h.i.+vering.

"Hunting beasts. Very dangerous. You would be dead, but the game requires you be alive for Grosha to view." He glanced over his shoulder anew. "We must finish this talk. No time left. I am not so much freer than you, understand? I am part of an exchange between Maturens to a.s.sure peace between their tribes. Taureq's eldest is with my father; I stay with Taureq. Five years I have to stay. I can do some things, but not much. I mentor Grosha, so I go along on this hunt. Good thing for you. I kept you alive, but maybe not for long." He paused, his black eyes fixed on them. "The truth? I don't know why I did so. Not for sure. A hunch, maybe. A foolish risk, too. But I did."

Grosha Siq had finished playing with his pets and was coming back over to them. Arik Sarn stood up. "We'll talk later."

NEARLY A QUARTER OF A MILE AWAY, but still within sight of the light from the campfire that Panterra and Prue had gone off to investigate, Phryne Amarantyne crouched in the shadows with Tasha Orullian, waiting for Tenerife. When Panterra and Prue had failed to return in a reasonable time and there were clear signs of activity around the fire-faint sounds of life and shadowy movements-Tenerife had decided to have a look. He was the most skilled of the three, the best suited for undertaking such a task, and there had been no argument that he should be the one to go. It might be that Pan and Prue were safe and that the sounds and movement signified nothing. Nevertheless, Tenerife had been quick to point out, they could not afford to take anything for granted.

But now Phryne was worried that perhaps something bad had happened to him, as well. She was furious with herself for urging Pan and Prue to go in the first place and frightened that her insistence might have brought harm to her new friends. Sometimes she didn't understand herself. Sometimes she acted in ways that were more self-indulgent than rational, and this appeared to be one of those times. She used her position as the daughter of the King; she used her beauty and her charm. She used everything she could find to use, and she did so almost offhandedly. She hadn't needed to know who'd built that fire or who might be tending it now. She could have left it alone, the answers she was eager to gather about the world outside the valley set aside for another day. But she had not wanted to wait, had not wanted to miss the chance of finding out something important and even vital about this world none of them had ever seen-that no one from the valley had seen. She wanted to be a part of that, to be at the forefront of this new discovery.

And so she had insisted, argued, and cajoled all four of her companions until Panterra and Prue had agreed to set out.

Stupid and willful-that was what she was.

"Do you see anything?" she whispered to Tasha.

He shook his head but said nothing in reply, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond their place of concealment.

All this was her fault, her responsibility. She had demanded to be taken along as the price for getting permission from her father for her cousins and their Glensk Wood visitors to go. She had pushed them through the pa.s.s and then beyond. She had flirted with Panterra to win him over-not simply for that but because she was attracted to him as well, an attraction that was forbidden for an Elf and particularly for an Elven Princess, as she well knew and simply ignored-enjoying the way he was fl.u.s.tered and confused by her attentions. She had acted like a girl, not like the young woman she professed to be. It was a clear indicator of how much growing up she still had to do, she thought bitterly.

She wondered what her father would think of her if he discovered what she had done, but she didn't have to wonder about it long to know the answer.

"He's coming," Tasha whispered suddenly.

A second later his brother appeared out of the darkness, creeping through the rocks and scrub in quick, furtive movements until he was safely back in the shadows crouched next to them.

"Panterra and little sister have been taken by Lizards. How this happened, I can't tell. Or even what the reason for it was. But they are trussed and bound, and there are too many guards for us to attempt a rescue."

Phryne bit her lip, aware of his eyes on her, feeling his judgment settle on her like a weight. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Tasha glanced over. "This isn't your fault. We all agreed to let them go. None of us thought there was that much danger to it. Pan and little sister are Trackers, and she has the sight. That should have been enough to protect them. I don't understand it. Lizards aren't known for their ability to sneak up on people. They shouldn't have been able to get that close without giving themselves away."

"Whatever the case," Tenerife continued, "we have a bigger problem still. The Lizards are putting our friends in a cart and taking them away. They'll be moving out shortly for other parts."

Phryne felt her heart sink. Any chance at rescuing Panterra and Prue would disappear if they lost sight of them. There was no telling where the Lizards might take them or what they might do to them once they arrived at their destination. If anything was to be done, it had to be done now.

"I think we have to go for help," Tenerife said quietly, looking once more at her. "I don't think we can do this alone."

She shook her head quickly, adamantly. "No. I'm not going back without them." She met his gaze and held it. "I won't leave them."

"Your father would skin us alive if we let you do anything else, cousin. You know that."

"He's right," his brother agreed, s.h.i.+fting his bulk so that he, too, was facing her. "We can't afford to risk anything happening to you. We have to return and tell your father about this and come back with a larger, better-equipped rescue party."

"No," she repeated. "I won't do it."

Tasha gave her a rueful grin. "The choice may not be yours to make. We are the ones held responsible for your safety."

"I am the only one responsible for me!" she snapped. She realized how arrogant that sounded and immediately held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Listen to me, please. If I agree to go back now, without Panterra and Prue, and my father learns what has happened, it will be years before I am allowed to do anything of this sort again. It will simply reconfirm what he already suspects-that I am a child, a girl, and I must be coddled and watched over until I am someone's wife."

"Better that than ending up dead or a prisoner of those Lizards," Tenerife pointed out. "You didn't see them. I did. They aren't like the Lizards we know. These creatures are huge and dangerous beyond anything I've ever known. They wear armor and carry weapons of war. This isn't a group of travelers on a journey; this is a war party, and it is too much for three Elves to try to overcome."

"All right, I agree," she said quickly, not wanting to cede him any of the territory she had already made up her mind to claim. "But we could follow them, track them to wherever they are taking Panterra and Prue. We could look for a chance to rescue them. Then, if no opportunity shows itself, if nothing happens to allow us to free them, we can come back into the valley and tell my father."

"We lose time that way, cousin."

"We lose opportunity the other way, cousin."

"Following your advice the last time didn't work out so well. Perhaps this time you should defer to us."

"Thank you for pointing that out. I had forgotten completely. Now that I am reminded, I should probably crawl back into my hole and defer to your superior good judgment for the rest of my life!"

They glared at each other. Tasha, listening silently until now, gave a heavy sigh. "Enough. Both arguments have merit. No good purpose is served if we fight among ourselves. We must weigh the choices and decide. Time slips away."

"You decide, then," his brother ordered. "The vote is split between Phryne and me. She says we stay, and I say we go back. You choose, and we will abide by your choice."

He obviously felt that his brother would side with him. Phryne almost objected to the proposal, but decided to hold her tongue. Better to wait and hear what Tasha had to say before attacking him. She had done enough of that already, and she had a sense that any more of the same would only be counterproductive. Besides, he was going to have his say in any case. She desperately wanted to stay, to make right the things she had helped make wrong, to not return as the instigator of what could only be termed a disaster. But she had to accept that she could not make this happen by herself, that she needed the acquiescence and support of her cousins.

"What do you say, Tasha?" she asked him, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "What should we do?"

Tasha seemed to consider. "There is one aspect of all this that neither of you has mentioned, one that might be more important than any of the others we have discussed. If we do the smart thing, the reasonable thing, and we return to Arborlon and ask your father to let us return and search for Panterra and little sister, will he allow it? Not just you, cousin, but any of us. Or any Elves at all, for that matter."

He paused. "Because the people we are asking him to rescue, the people his Hunters must search out and do battle for, are humans. No, don't say anything yet, Phryne. I know your father is a reasonable and good man. But he differs not so much from other Elves in his dislike and mistrust of humans. He will weigh that against any obligation he feels toward you or us in making his decision. I cannot say for certain which way he will go, even knowing him as I do. That troubles me. If he refused to help our young friends, Tenerife and I would have to come back on our own, likely in direct disobedience of the King, and do what little we could to make things right."

He looked from his brother to Phryne. "What do you think?"

Phryne knew what she thought. She thought her father was a better man than that. She thought he would stand up for those his daughter had taken responsibility for. But she also knew Tasha was not wrong in his a.s.sessment. She shook her head, an indication of her own uncertainty.

Tenerife shrugged. "You make it all sound so reasonable, brother. As you always seem to. I find nothing to disagree with, so I withdraw my vote against abandoning our friends and suggest we go after them."

He walked over and put an arm around Phryne's shoulders. "We should leave now before they get any farther ahead, don't you think?"

She gave him a broad smile in response and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

SEVENTEEN.

THE TROLLS TRAVELED WEST AND NORTH FOR MOST of the remainder of the night, armored giants flanking the wagon that bore the prisoners, the sounds of creaking wheels and leather traces blending with the tromp of booted feet and guttural mutterings through a darkness barely broken by the pale light of moon and stars. Panterra and Prue were rolled and bounced about in the wooden bed by the jerky, swaying motion of the wagon, trying as best they could in their bound condition to brace themselves in its corners. Behind them, the mountains that hid their valley home slowly receded into darkness, swallowed by time and distance.

Prue eventually fell asleep, by then folded over and lying p.r.o.ne, her head in Pan's lap where he kept her as comfortable as he could manage. For himself, there could be no sleep. Not while his head ached and his anger burned. He spent his time trying to loosen his bonds, working them this way and that, twisting his wrists, using sweat and blood drawn from deep cuts incurred through efforts to lubricate the leather-all to no avail. The Trolls kept checking on him in any case, glancing in from where they walked alongside, keeping close enough that even if he were to break free there would be no chance of a successful flight.

Not that he would ever leave Prue. It was all just an exercise, just a way of pa.s.sing the time and giving vent to his rage and frustration, the whole of it born of a deadening sense of futility.

He looked more than once for Arik Sarn, thinking to engage him in further conversation, wanting to learn more about what was happening to them. But there was no sign of the enigmatic Troll, no indication when or even if he would reappear, and Pan soon decided that help from that quarter was unlikely. He had thought from the other's knowledge of the Hawk and his journey to the valley, there might be some sort of kins.h.i.+p shared. In part, that feeling was fostered by the other's unexpected ability to speak their language and by his familiarity with their history. But in retrospect, Pan wondered if he were reading things into the encounter that weren't really there. Desperation sometimes fueled false hope. That could be so here.

He wondered anew if the Orullians and Phryne Amarantyne had any idea at all what had happened to them, if their friends even knew they were being taken away. A rescue seemed so unlikely given the odds of success that he found he couldn't give the idea serious consideration. If there was to be any chance of escape, it would have to come from his own efforts; reliance on others was a fool's game, and he knew it.

So he worked at his bonds and stared daggers at his captors when he caught them watching. But eventually, even that wasn't enough to fight off his fatigue, and with Prue's head still resting in his lap, he slept.

When he woke again, it was to shouts and cries and a rumble of activity all around him. The caravan was descending a long, rolling slope toward plains in which countless tents spread away in dark hummocks amid a sea of burned gra.s.ses, spindly weeds, and scattered clumps of rocks. It was daylight again, if only barely so, the eastern sky above the now very distant mountains silvery behind a thin layer of clouds, the landscape washed of color. No greens were visible from where this new encampment was settled, the whole of the land in all directions barren and empty of life. Only the Trolls-and there were thousands of them-populated the otherwise bleak landscape. They were gathered everywhere about night fires that mostly had burned out by now, leaving spirals of smoke rising into the air like the spirits of the dead. Bent to tasks that Pan could not decipher, to work that lacked recognizable definition or purpose, the Trolls went about their business. Only a few glanced up as the caravan approached, and those only for a quick look before turning away again.

Prue was awake, as well, hunched close against him. "There are so many of them. What are they doing here?"

Her words were barely audible above the rumble of their cart and the jumbled sounds of the camp. He shook his head in reply, saying nothing. Whatever the Trolls were about, it wasn't good. This was an army on the move, not a permanent camp. The Trolls were thousands strong, and there were arms and armor stacked everywhere. He saw beasts of burden that looked like nothing he had ever seen before, some of them vaguely resembling horses, many with horns and spikes jutting out of their heads and necks. Some were so burly that they had the look of battering rams, all covered in leather and metal clips. Some had the look of Kodens.

He saw a handful of the Skaith Hounds, as well, kenneled off to one side in a wire pen that rose fully eight feet high and was topped with spikes. The beasts pressed up against the wire, tongues lolling out from between rows of teeth. They whined and growled in steady cadence, and the two that had taken the boy and girl raced off to greet them, their master sauntering off in their wake, waving to someone in the distance.

"We can't stay here," Prue whispered. "We are in a lot of danger if we do. You know that, don't you?"

He did, of course, but he also knew he didn't have a way of changing the situation. "Just wait," he whispered back, not knowing what it was he expected her to wait for, short of a miracle.

The wagon with its prisoners rolled into the camp and through the tents, and waves of Trolls crowded around and peered in at them, discovering finally that there was something to see. Dozens more came quickly in response to the shouts of those closest. Panterra and Prue pressed together at the center of the wagon bed, trying to elude hands that poked and prodded at them, to evade the odors of sweat and heated breath was.h.i.+ng over them. The Trolls laughed and joked with one another, and one or two brought out knives and gestured at the boy and the girl, taunting them.

Panterra kicked out, trying to drive them back. A powerful hand grabbed his leg and pulled him toward the side of the wagon, away from Prue. "Pan!" he heard her scream as his head banged down on the wooden slats and his head spun anew.

But a second later the Trolls fell back, the men of the escort forcing them away, and Arik Sarn was lowering the gate and reaching in to loosen their leg bonds and help them down. They could barely stand at first, their legs cramped from the binding. The Troll held them up, stronger than he looked, as the blood returned and twinges of pain shot through their lower limbs. Flanked by the men from the escort, the Troll guided them through the crowds and into a large tent at the center of the camp, into fresh darkness and a m.u.f.fling of the sounds without.

"Stay here," he told them, steering them over to a pole at the center of a section of the tent that was curtained off from the rest.

As if to make clear that there wasn't a choice, he sat them down with their backs to the pole and chained them with ankle manacles that kept them in place.

Then he turned without a word and disappeared back the way they had come.

THEY REMAINED WHERE THEY WERE for several hours, and at one point both fell asleep again. The sounds outside their place of confinement provided a steady thrum of noise, and no one came or went from their tent. Pan gave up on trying to free himself from his bonds, the ankle chain a new twist on their imprisonment that he had no way of overcoming. Their best hope now, he decided, was in awaiting the return of Arik Sarn.

When the Troll finally did reappear, he came bearing a tray of dried meat, hard bread, and a pitcher of ale with cups. He set down everything he had brought, knelt beside them, and released them from the bonds that secured their hands, but left the ankle chain in place. He worked for a long time rubbing Prue's wrists, restoring her circulation, and then he produced a container of thick salve from his tunic and rubbed it into her abrasions and cuts. He let Panterra take care of himself, glancing over every now and then, his face impa.s.sive as he worked, his eyes giving nothing away of his feelings. He took a long time with Prue, curiously tender in his ministrations, then he pointed to the tray and motioned for them to eat. He sat watching silently as they did so, and when Pan started to speak, the Troll shook his head and gestured anew at the food and drink. First things first, he seemed to be saying, and Pan left it at that.

But as soon as they pushed back their plates and drained their cups, he was all business. "When your eating is done, Taureq Siq comes to question you. As Maturen of the Drouj, he will decide your fate. I ask the questions because I speak your tongue and can translate answers. But beware. You must answer fully and accurately. My oath as hostage and guest is part of the exchange of eldest sons. I am forbidden from hiding truth, even a little. Honor does not allow for it. Do you understand what I say?"

Panterra understood perfectly. "We should say nothing we would not want you to repeat."

Sarn nodded. "Yes. Grosha looks to feed you to his hounds. He considers you property that has been taken away from him, and he is angry about it. He blames me, but his father has first claim and Grosha knows this. Even so, I may not be able to do anything more for you. Taureq dotes on Grosha and mostly gives him what he wants. He has little reason here to deny Grosha. I will do what I can to help. But remember about giving answers to questions. Be careful how you speak and of what."

"Why are you helping us?" Pan asked impulsively. "You owe us nothing. You barely know who we are."

The Troll gave him an unreadable look. "Would it be better if I didn't help you?"

There was a sudden flurry of activity from just outside the chamber's closed flap, and Arik Sarn stood quickly and turned. A moment later a Troll's flat-featured face poked through, and the Troll spoke quickly to Sarn in their by-now-familiar guttural language. The latter nodded and gestured the messenger away. "They come for you. Stand up and meet them as equals. Show no fear; do as I told you."

Panterra had no idea how they were supposed to avoid showing fear when they were captives in a camp of thousands of Trolls, any of whom might choose to kill them with not much more than a momentary thought. But he took Prue's hand in his own and stood with her, facing the tent flap, holding himself erect. Sarn gave them a quick glance and then stepped to one side, distancing himself by doing so. It seemed an ominous sign.

"Watch me closely," Arik Sarn said quickly.

The sounds of footfalls and voices entering the outer portion of the tent froze them in place. Seconds later the tent flap was thrown back, and a clutch of armored black bodies strode through the opening and came to a halt. Panterra knew at once which of them was Taureq Siq just from the obvious deference paid him by all but one of the other Trolls who accompanied him. It was in their body language and their silence, but mostly it was in the way he dominated the room. Trolls were large to begin with, but Taureq Siq was a giant, standing fully eight feet tall and weighing well over three hundred pounds, all of it looking to Pan as if it were muscle and bone. Only Grosha, dark-browed and cold-eyed, standing at his father's right hand, showed no hesitation at crowding forward and then launching into a diatribe that was accompanied by angry gestures toward Panterra and Prue and his cousin. His father let him go on for a moment before backing him away with one ma.s.sive arm and a single sharp command that turned the furious boy silent.

He took a step forward so that he stood at the forefront of the little a.s.sembly and close to the boy and the girl. His huge body was layered with scales as thick and rough as bark looming over them like a tree trunk, and his flat, empty face was ridged with scars. He studied them, letting the silence build for a moment before he s.h.i.+fted his gaze to his nephew and asked a quick question. Sarn answered briefly, and then there was a further exchange.

"Taureq says to tell him where you come from," he said quietly.

Panterra took a deep breath. "We come from deep in the mountains east of these plains. Those mountains are our home."